Waiting
by doomcherries
Summary: Time was cruel.SPOILERS FOR THE SEASON FINALE. And slight spoilers for 7x23 TGTBTD.


Disclaimer: I own nothing and have made no money, either.

Huge thanks to mingsmommy for looking this over for me. Without her invaluable insight, this entire thing would have sucked. A lot.

Again, SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE.

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Hour one was a complete blur, the details lost somewhere in the frantic flying rush of Brass driving like a demon out of the desert delivering him to Desert Palms. The adrenaline rush surging through his veins caused time to rush by, the minutes being absorbed by some black hole in time.

Hour two had him thrust into a frenzied rush of emergency room personnel throwing various consent forms his way. He signed each one, his signature nearly illegible. He needed to know something. Anything. If a doctor had come to tell him her pulse was seventy-six, he could be contented. At least for a few minutes, as time had already begun to lengthen.

Hour three brought Catherine and a morose, obviously frightened Greg. He looked over their shoulders for the other two team members, but found nothing. They were still at the crime scene, Catherine told him. Good, he thought, that was good. The discussion of Sara's condition took less than five minutes; he knew very little and they knew even less. Time had slowed dramatically, each minute ticking by as if it were being dragged through sludge.

Hour four made him want to scream. They hadn't told him how long the surgery would last. Catherine and Greg kept looking at him; sometimes as if they expected him to have all the answers and other times as if he were on the verge of a breakdown.

By hour five he grabbed a magazine from the table in front of him and began twisting the pages in his hands. He could hear the grinding of his teeth as he tried to tear it in half. After what seemed like hours of unsuccessfully tearing at paper, he opened the six month old copy of _Psychology Today _and stared blankly at the first page.

Time was cruel.

At the beginning of hour six Grissom sat just staring through the magazine in his hands. The room seemed inviting enough with its two couches, three chairs and large TV tuned to the local news station. But he thought otherwise.

The carpet was too green.

The couches were too hard.

The wallpaper was too coarse. And too hideous.

And that damn news reporter on the television was too cheery.

With a cry he threw the magazine across the room, startling a near sleeping Catherine as it landed haphazardly near her feet.

Greg looked up from the game of Solitaire he'd been playing for the past three hours. The cards had started to meld into each other and he wished Nick and Warrick were with him. Greg glanced between Catherine and Grissom; then pushing away the cards, he joined Catherine on the vinyl covered couch.

Shifting uncomfortably, Greg watched his normally cool and calm boss and mentor fall apart before his eyes. He could see Grissom's body shake as he tried to quell his emotions and remain stoic.

"Gil?" Catherine didn't dare ask if he was okay. It was a stupid question and she already knew the answer to that. Of course he wasn't okay. She wasn't even sure if she was okay.

Looking up, he caught the gazes of his worried coworkers. Catherine moved the hair from her face and waited for him to compose his thoughts. Leaning forward, Greg rested his forearms on his legs and folded his hands; he watched helplessly as Grissom attempted to speak.

Voice agitated and raw he answered, "I can't take this anymore."

Catherine cleared her throat, "Why don't we go down to the cafeteria? Even if just for a change of scenery." Her voice was soft, trying carefully not to break his already thin veil of composure.

"Yeah, Grissom, Catherine's right," Greg started, his voice almost as raw as Grissom's. "You should try to eat something, too."

The entomologist's entire body shook as he sighed. He didn't want to move, afraid if he did, he'd miss the news he'd been waiting for for the past five hours. He didn't know if his legs even worked; his entire body felt like jello. He felt like rocks were behind his eyelids and his throat was on fire.

The events of the past thirty hours kept running through his mind and the more he thought about them, the more he blamed himself for her kidnapping.

The past week had been rough with Sara closing a part of herself away from him. Maybe he shouldn't have been so consumed by Heather; he should have paid more attention to Sara and her feelings. Instead he acted like the self-consumed ass he knew he could be and made Sara want to head to San Francisco.

He caused her to be a target of a serial killer that had eluded him for the past nine months. It was a personal attack on him. Natalie had gone after the one person he truly cared about.

When he received the call that Brass had located Sara's position he nearly knocked over Judy as he ran from the building. Never in his life had he driven so fast and once he was at the crime scene, he didn't care about contaminating it; he just wanted to see her. Grissom needed to touch her, know she was alive. It took both Nick and Warrick to pull him away from the wrecked car.

Brass escorted him to Desert Palms and Grissom was grateful he remained quiet. Only as Grissom was about to shuffle out of the car did Brass speak up. "Gil, I'm sorry."

He could only nod as he shut the door behind him and rushed to the information desk.

It was five hours ago a nurse –was her name Betty? He couldn't remember—had ushered him into the waiting room and told him Sara was being prepped for emergency surgery. And now he sat here with an annoying news reporter in a room where minutes felt like hours and hours felt like days.

"…_and Lola, the adorable Yorkshire Terrier, won first prize today at Pets-R-Us pet store for their annual dog show. Michelle, Lola's doting owner, commented saying that…"_

Scowling at the TV, he mumbled, "Okay."

Standing on shaky legs, Grissom walked to the door and back and then sat back down. Catherine stood and waited patiently, shifting her weight from one hip to the other. He stood again, looked at Catherine and down at the chair and back at Catherine. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder and she gave him a slight squeeze.

"Room will still be here."

He stared at a point over her shoulder. "I know."

Greg cleared his throat, "And if there's any news—."

Grissom met Greg's eyes and was surprised at the amount of worry reflected in them. "I know."

Turning, Grissom shoved his hands in his pockets and started out the door with Catherine trailing behind him. He glanced back and saw Greg give him a sad smile as he turned the corner. Just before turning down the second hallway, they were both nearly run down by a young doctor rushing towards the waiting room.

"Mr. Grissom?"

Not trusting his voice, he merely nodded.

"I'm Dr. Westerman. I have news about Ms. Sidle's condition. Would you like to sit?"

Reentering the room from which they just exited, Grissom absently thought to himself, _"If I'm ever back in this hospital, I'm burning this fucking room down."_

Immediately, Greg joined Catherine at Grissom's side as he sat down in the chair he hadn't moved from in hours.

Sitting back down, Grissom could feel his heart begin to race and his stomach drop through his ass. Every muscle in his body was prepared to steel him against the news he was about to receive. His palms were sweaty and wasn't sure if he was breathing anymore.

Was he breathing?

The doctor glanced nervously between him and two people around him before Catherine nodded for him to continue.

"She's stable, for now."

Breath exploded from Grissom's lungs and he let out a sob as Dr. Westerman continued. Catherine stepped forward to catch Grissom as he rocked forward so hard, he fell from the chair onto his knees. Dr. Westerman stooped and helped Catherine contain the sobbing man. Turning around, Greg grabbed the box of tissues and handed them to Catherine, stealing a few for himself.

Standing, the doctor waited until Catherine nodded to continue.

"We've got the internal bleeding under control. She has several broken ribs, causing a small pneumothorax, the presence of air in the pleural space, in her right lung," his gaze flicked over the three worried faces in front of him. Clearing his throat he continued, "She also has a minor concussion and a fractured fibula. Luckily, Ms. Sidle suffered no spinal injuries or any other serious bone breaks."

Grissom buried his face in his hands, tears burning his already dry eyes. Sniffing, he wiped furiously at his cheeks. "I want to see her."

The doctor nodded. "I can have that arranged." He adopted an admonishing tone. "But I warn you now, Mr. Grissom, she's no picture of health. The accident didn't spare her any bruises and because of her pneumothorax she needs supplemental oxygen; if she's awake, talking may be difficult."

Nodding. He just kept nodding.

"If you'll follow me, I'll take you to her."

Grissom looked up at Catherine and turned around to face Greg. They all gave a small nod towards the door. "You go, Gil. You need to be with her," Catherine said softly.

Pushing himself from the floor, he followed the doctor out the door towards the shiny double doors of the elevator. Thankfully, Dr. Westerman remained quiet and silently led him to her room in the ICU.

Stopping in front of Sara's room, the doctor opened the door and allowed Grissom to enter. Before he turned away completely, Grissom stopped him.

"I uh…thank you," he fumbled.

Dr. Westerman nodded and gave a small smile before walking off.

Turing towards the door, Grissom let out a deep breath and softly pushed the door open. The room was mostly dark save for the over bed light providing a soft glow illuminating Sara's slender frame. He swallowed hard as he proceeded forward and with a shaky hand, Grissom pulled a chair over to her side.

Sitting down he merely looked at her battered body, afraid to touch her. She looked so fragile. Her skin was deathly pale and peppered with fresh bruises. An intravenous line was in her left hand leading to a bag of saline, another to the morphine pump. He could see the soft rise and fall of her chest as she slept and a wave of relief rushed through him.

His gaze never leaving her face, Grissom laid his head on the bed next to her hand. Tears fell from his eyes before he could stop them and landed on the sheets under his cheeks.

"Oh, Sara," his voice choked, "I'm sorry."

Closing his eyes, he let out a few silent sobs and his fingers sought out her hand. Grasping her fingers gently, Grissom brushed his thumb over the cool skin and his heart leapt in his throat—she was alive. _Alive._

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Sara," he mumbled idly, "I should have tried harder."

Feeling her fingers tighten around his own, he shot up in his seat and found her eyes barely open, looking at him. Sara's eyes were devoid of sparkle, they were tired and her irises were dull, but in this moment, Grissom thought they were beautiful. Her breathing grew heavier as she attempted to speak.

"Did…did you…get her?" she rasped out, wincing in pain.

"Shh," he started, moving his hand to cradle the left side of her face, "Yes, we got her, honey."

Sara barely nodded and pressed her face into his hand, stealing the warmth from his flesh. "I love you, Gil," she whispered.

For the first time in thirty hours, Grissom felt his heart soar. He felt rejuvenated, he felt his soul lift its heavy burden, he felt safe. Sara was safe.

A smile broke out on his face and he leaned forward to place a kiss on her forehead. Against her skin he murmured, "I love you, too, Sara."

He pulled back and sighed.

Everything was going to be okay.


End file.
